


Hair-brushing and Bothersome Balrog-slayers

by AdviserOfImladris (orphan_account)



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Erestor does something totally OOC, Erestor is working, Fluff, Glorfindel is being annoying, Hair-brushing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 09:48:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3442613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/AdviserOfImladris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glorfindel is looking for a comb in Erestor's study (or...what he would call looking)...Erestor is trying to work, and finally Erestor has had enough!  You are warned, this is slash, but there's no smut in here!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hair-brushing and Bothersome Balrog-slayers

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment!

“Glorfindel, seriously, stop. I’m trying to work here.”

“Oh, how ‘serious’ could writing an order for food supplies be?” Glorfindel resumed playing with his lover’s dark locks, since he sensed that Erestor wasn’t actually annoyed enough to start griping at him with that angry look in his eyes that always heralded trouble.

Erestor closed his eyes and sighed. He seemed to do that a lot around Glorfindel. “Unless you’d like to starve, we’re going to need grain this winter. Stop messing with my hair; I braided it this morning and now you’re –” He cut himself off, going back to writing and resolving himself to ignore the intolerable Balrog-slayer standing behind him. Hadn’t Lord Elrond been the one to say that ‘Patience was a virtue’?

“Oh. Sorry.” Glorfindel didn’t sound the least bit sorry as he tugged the strands of ebony hair out of place and undid a carefully woven braid. He was astounded, as always, as to how in Arda Erestor’s hair could stay so straight when he had it pulled back in braids all the time. Glorfindel’s own golden hair he just let loose; unless he was sparring, training, or going on a patrol. Then, and only then, would he pull it back into a single long braid, but no matter whether he did that or not, his hair remained wavy from the top of his head to the very tips of his hair. It would really make much more sense to pull it back all the time, but he let it fly around simply because he suspected that Erestor liked looking at the golden tresses loose.

“Do you have a comb in here?” Glorfindel asked absent-mindedly, twisting dark tresses around his fingers and pulling ever-so-slightly to loosen the next braid. The action couldn’t help but remind him of what they had done last night – or early this morning, to be exact…

“Why would I have a comb in here?” Erestor sounded exasperated, but Glorfindel knew that he hadn’t gotten angry…yet. “This is my office, Glorfindel, where I work. Do you know the meaning of that word? You don’t do personal grooming while you’re supposed to be working.”

“Well,” said Glorfindel, glad for the opening, “you didn’t seem to mind last week when I surprised you in here and we locked the door for an hour and a half. Right now, though, I’m just messing with your hair. How do you get it to be so straight, by the way?”

Erestor wondered if it would be too much of a bother to somehow turn around without Glorfindel pulling too hard on his hair, pick up his sharpened quill, and jab at Glorfindel with it. He figured it would solve his problems – about 90 percent of them – but it wasn’t worth the time. So Erestor went back to reviewing the report the master chef had given them and trying to figure out exactly how much oats, wheat, and barley they needed to order. He secretly enjoyed the feeling of Glorfindel’s fingers running through his hair, but he would never admit that. His lover’s head was big enough as it was!

Glorfindel hummed something and glanced around the room, looking futilely for something to brush Erestor’s hair with other than his fingers. Of course, this was Erestor’s office. There was nothing but the bare essentials – why would there be a comb in here? Let’s see, two bookcases stuffed to the brim with carefully organized volumes and catalogues, the desk, and two chairs. One of the chairs was the one Erestor was currently seated in; the other was across the desk, facing them. There was nothing on the desk but stacks of paper, some type of lamp for late-night working, some carefully lined-up quills, an open ink bottle, and a few opened letters. And there was a portrait on the wall. The dark-haired beauty was Erestor’s mother – his lover had told him one night when they both lay wrapped in each other’s arms after a sweet round of lover-making.

“Are you serious? You have nothing in here but work materials?” For a moment after he asked that question, Glorfindel was afraid Erestor would turn, dark eyes furious, and order him out, but the adviser just sighed. Much more loudly than he had before.

Erestor’s voice was patient, terrifyingly so. “Why would I need anything in here but what I use to do my work?”

“Well, you don’t even have –” Glorfindel surveyed the room with acute disapproval, ignoring the underlying dangerous tone in Erestor’s voice. “You have no decoration, nothing for pleasure! There’s not even a simple bottle of wine?”

“If I had wine in here, you would drink it.”

“Well, that’s true,” Glorfindel had to admit, grinning. He glanced down, twisting his long fingers in Erestor’s ebony hair again. He considered re-braiding it, then decided not to. It wouldn’t take him very long, but he had a feeling Erestor wasn’t going to sit still for this much longer.

His feelings were confirmed twenty seconds later, when Erestor set down his quill and paper with a snap when they hit the wooden desk. Reaching behind him, Erestor firmly pulled Glorfindel’s busy fingers away from his hair, then stood to his feet. Backing away slightly, Glorfindel waited for the explosion that was soon to come as Erestor turned to face him.

Glorfindel was surprised, though. Instead of snapping at him, Erestor moved away from his seat and gestured for Glorfindel to take his place. Raising an eyebrow, Glorfindel wondered if his lover had gone insane, or maybe something had taken his mind over and – 

His thoughts were interrupted when Erestor grabbed his arm and pushed him into the chair. He was surprisingly strong for an adviser, though Glorfindel knew that if it really came down to it, he would beat him by a safe margin. Settling himself into the seat – it was a little small for him, since Erestor was more petite than almost any other male elf in the valley, although he would never mention that to his face or risk the tirade of the century – he waited a bit nervously for what was to come.

He didn’t turn his head even when he heard something being moved on the bookshelf behind him. Robes rustled as Erestor did something that he could tell, then the adviser’s soft tread came closer and right behind him. Glorfindel stayed. Others would say he put too much trust in the stern-faced Chief Counselor, but he knew perfectly well that the most of the ‘others’ weren’t even aware that Erestor was his lover.

And then Glorfindel was surprised again. He felt a gentle touch on the back of his head as Erestor pulled the Balrog-slayer’s golden hair over the back of the chair. Something cool and straight moved through his hair, tugging it slightly and pulling the small tangles out. It went all the way down to the ends of his hair, then vanished for a moment and started back up at the top.

“I thought you said you didn’t have a comb,” said Glorfindel softly, not wanting the adviser to stop now.

“I didn’t say that, did I? I asked why I would need one.” Erestor’s voice was quiet, and the brushing paused for a moment, then he continued. Stroke after stroke…running from the very top to the very tips, Erestor continued. By the time it stopped, Glorfindel felt unbearably sleepy. Who knew that would happen? He had closed his eyes, not in sleep of course, since elves as a race slept with their eyes open, but simply to increase his other senses.

He heard the comb being set down on the desk, the light click as it settled onto the wood, then felt his hair being smoothly pulled back further. A few slight tugging sensations, then all settled down to quietness until Erestor stopped and fiddled with something for a long moment before Glorfindel felt something being tied to the end of the long slender braid Erestor had just made.

“What style?” Glorfindel asked, almost afraid to break the silence. He still didn’t open his eyes.

“You’ll see,” was all Erestor would say, and he continued. A dozen or so small braids later, he pulled back the two foremost braids and linked them together, starting an intricate pattern that was hard to do on oneself. It was far easier on another subject, Erestor decided.

When the slight gentle pulling finally stopped for good, Glorfindel opened his eyes, blinking sleepily. He could believe he felt so exhausted now. He felt a jerk on one of the loose braids as Erestor signaled that he was done now.

Glorfindel rose from the seat, stretching his back slightly. It really wasn’t good for him to sit in such a small seat for extended periods of time. Curious as to what his hair would be like now, he lifted his hand to run it over the braids, but Erestor stopped him.

“No,” the adviser disapproved. “Look in a mirror, don’t mess with it.”

“I thought you were just yesterday condemning me for looking in a mirror,” Glorfindel teased, but Erestor didn’t take the bait.

“Don’t mess it up,” he repeated, then slid into his chair with practiced ease. “Good day, Glorfindel.”

Glorfindel didn’t exactly want to leave now, but there was obviously no mirror in Erestor’s office and he really wanted to see what the Counselor had done to his hair. He knew that it was still mostly loose, since he could feel the free tendrils brushing the small of his back, but the familiar sensation of it weighing down on his shoulders was gone and there was the faintest pressure of braids near his scalp.

Going to the door, Glorfindel flashed Erestor a grin, promising that his genuine thanks would come later that night. Then he moved down the corridor, whistling something.

Erestor, picking up his quill again, comb hidden back in its usual place, figured the Balrog-slayer was quite pleased with himself now. Well, so be it. But if Glorfindel came in here one more time while he was trying to do something, he wasn’t going to accede to his wishes once more; he was going to start throwing things at his lover. After all, too many disruptions in a day would seriously mess up his work ethic. (Especially by a charming, glorious, golden-haired Balrog-slayer, but he refused to say or even think that).


End file.
